A Productive Saturday
by NatureGirl52180
Summary: TF Prime: Those kids are watching way too much television at the base . . .


**Disclaimer: **_Characters are not mine. The "Family Guy" inspiration is not mine, either (no spoilers! Read and See! And if you aren't a regular Family Guy viewer, I confess that there might be some confusion, but really, I think you'll be ok). I'm not getting money, just some small measure of comfort that this nonsense is no longer rattling around in my head._

_Ironically, the inspiration for this hit me hard yesterday (yes, yesterday) and I have done nothing productive aside from it since. The bunny has been gnawing my skull for months, but it all snapped together so beautifully while I was watching the episode 'Rock Bottom' and doing yoga (don't ask) that I had to sit down and push it all out. The entire experience, I imagine, was a lot like giving birth. _

_I had a lot of fun with this. Review and let me know if you had fun reading it. _

* * *

><p>Arcee was observant. It wasn't all optics and audio sensors, either. It was something more. On the most basic level, it was an instinct. All of her sensory input would come together, giving her the opportunity to react to a threat before it had really even presented itself. A chill that would race through her circuits when Decepticons were closing in or a friend was in trouble. Jack had often referred to it as "Spider Senses", until recent run-ins with Airachnid had caused him to rethink his choice in phrases. Now, he just asked her if she was getting a Decepticon vibe. It was some other human cultural reference that she didn't get, but, Jack always seemed more ready to follow her direction with alacrity if she answered in the affirmative. So, she let it slide.<p>

As a warrior, her spark depended on her ability to be aware of everything around her and she was acutely aware of that. In order to survive and to be a functional and effective cog in the Autobot machine, she had to be aware of her surroundings. It made her stealthy, dangerous, and indispensable to her unit. It made her good.

She never considered this an extra sensory perception. There was nothing paranormal or unexplainable about it. Her senses were finely tuned and her processor worked at a quick enough pace to put together the pieces to provide probable scenarios. It wasn't as if Arcee could predict when the alarms would go off or when the 'Cons were up to something. If she had the power of foresight, she would have put that skill to use and ended the war a long time ago.

She was merely observant. She could tell when something was amiss. When there was just that feeling, nearly intangible to most other beings, that something was just not quite right.

It was a rare occasion, indeed when these little warning bells would go off while in the base. Or it used to be. Since Jack, Miko, and Raf had charged head-long into the Autobot's existence, it happened with more frequency. Arcee had once worked it out one evening before recharge: if one were to take on-base 'vibe' occurrences before the kids' arrival and compare them to such occurrences after their arrival, it could be estimated that they had risen by a ratio of something like ten to the fourth power. Especially if one threw Ratchet in there as a variable.

And it could certainly make for an eventful Saturday afternoon.

As much as she tried to overcompensate for it, sometimes her diminutive size worked against her. In the field, she had always pulled her own weight. Never had she given any of her teammates reason to think that she couldn't reasonably take care of herself and accomplish whatever objective had been set. They had saved her that was true. But usually, she turned around and saved them right back. It wasn't like anyone was keeping score, well not officially anyway, but by Arcee's estimation, they were all about even in the "Saving Your Teams' Bumper" department. Bulkhead, Bumblebee, and Optimus didn't shield her. They relied on her in the field, just as much, if not more, than a 'bot three times her size.

But occasionally, what it came down to were simple laws of mass and spatial relations. Arcee was smaller. Ergo, Arcee had smaller servos that were much better suited to tweaking sensitive equipment than big, clumsy, mech-crawls. Ergo, if a certain cranky medic were to roll out of his berth with a (to borrow a colorful phrase from Miko's rather extensive collection) torqued-off porcupine up his tailpipe, it wouldn't take much for Optimus to try to placate him with a sacrifice. He called it offering assistance, but since it was Arcee that got offered up to work on the slagging diagnostic equipment, she couldn't help but feel slightly like one of those little blonde Earth twits that got themselves strung up before some great hideous beast, offering herself so others might live. Or so it went in the human movies.

After that little analogy had danced around her cranial plate for a few seconds, Arcee could only deduce that those kids were watching too much fragging television while they visited the base. That had led to the decision that something productive would be done with this particular Saturday. It was a distinct possibility that, should the Autobots' little trio of natives come across one of those sappy little cinematic treasures, someone other than Ratchet would be throwing wrenches and Arcee would not be held accountable for her actions.

When, predictably, Optimus had announced that he would be taking Arcee's place on daily patrol with Bulkhead and Bumblebee, Arcee had pitched a minor tantrum about being left behind, more for form's sake than anything else. She had long suspected that Prime had a slightly warped sense of humor, seasoned with patient subtlety. In his mind, this was probably some form of punishment for something stupid she had done on the battlefield. While he always made his disapproval known after the incident, Prime was never one for handing out sentencing or judgment. It just wasn't in him to play lord-and- master, especially when a few, disappointed words could have such an effect on those loyal to him. But somehow, perpetrators occasionally ended up with some sort of unpleasant detail after the fact. If it gave Prime some small measure of perverse glee, who was to argue?

Just to give Prime's closet-sadist a thrill, Arcee gave him a little song and dance about not being a babysitter for the kids _or _Ratchet before their glorious leader disappeared through the Ground Bridge. It could have been her imagination, but she thought she saw his optics crinkle ever so slightly at the corners, indicating a smile might be hidden behind the battle mask inexplicably in place over his face plates, even though there was currently no one to battle.

So, that left Arcee to play Andromeda to Ratchet's Kraken. Or Ann Darrow to his King Kong. Or Nell to his Snidely Whiplash. Whatever. There were two things that were painfully obvious.

Number one: not Perseus, Jack Driscoll, nor Dudley fraggin' Do-Right was going to save her from her current antagonist. She was going to have to suck it up and deal with Ratchet on her own (and those other sniveling little femmes could take a page from her book, thank-you-very-much).

Number two: and she really couldn't repeat this one to herself enough. . .

THE KIDS WERE WATCHING TOO MUCH TV WHILE AT THE BASE!

Which brought her back to the mission of a productive Saturday. By the time Ratchet had unnecessarily instructed her on the proper methods for spark scanner maintenance for what felt like the four billionth time, the three little goggle-box junkies had already plopped themselves down on the couch and surfed the channels to find something they could all agree on. Within the five minutes Arcee endured Ratchet's temper and not-so idle threats, Jack and Miko were moving towards a state of semi-consciousness, their eyes glazing over as every independent, intelligent thought they might have been having was forcibly dislodged and replaced by some inane, improbable plot line. Raf had seated himself on the floor and pulled out his computer, and looked as though he might actually be trying to accomplish something of merit, but it did not take long for the siren to weave its spell. Soon, he too, was transfixed.

Arcee saw her chance when Ratchet moved off to unleash his wrath on some poor, unsuspecting piece of laboratory equipment. Leaving the scanner on the work table, she picked up a data pad moved towards them. A part of her really hated to do this, especially to Raf. From what Jack had told her, he came from a large family and felt as though he had to try twice as hard as a normal kid just to be noticed. He was bookish and studious, making him a target for more physically and socially mature children, even his own age. Aside from Jack, Miko, Bumblebee and the other Autobots, Arcee suspected that the boy had no other friends. Opportunities to sit and vegetate with those that accepted him were new for him.

The thought gave her slight pause before a logical rebuttal manifested itself: Jack and Miko were teaching Raf bad habits. A little downtime was a good thing, but the degree to which these younglings engaged in it was appalling. It was Arcee's duty as their guardian to instill a good work ethic and encourage the two elder Earth children to be positive role models for their younger friend. Righteously, she told herself that the notion of "misery loves company" didn't enter into it, even if she did feel slightly vindicated as she stepped up to the deck the humans had adopted as their own little clubhouse.

"Is this what you're all going to do with your day?" Arcee asked flatly as a way of broaching the subject. She was fairly certain that they had seen this archaic monster-blob flick at least twice.

Miko made some noise, which Arcee assumed was a vague affirmative. Nothing intelligent headed down that pike. She decided to change tact. Crossing her arms and focusing her optics on Jack, Arcee waited.

He was a smart little carbon-based life form, she had to give him that. Arcee made it to a count of ten before Jack looked up from where he was tucked in to the cushions, leaning on the arm of the couch. It took about three seconds for the TV-induced stupor to clear his brain. After blinking twice, he finally caught the meaningful glare she was giving him. "I'm sorry, Arcee. Is . . . is there something we can help you with?"

"So kind of you to offer, Jack." Arcee replied loftily as she reached over them and unplugged the TV. The remote was too small for to use and Miko, awakened from her coma by the concern in Jack's voice, had already snatched up the device and was glaring at Arcee with an almost-rabid air. "As a matter of fact, I think there are a few things that you could give us a hand with."

"Sure!" Raf's fingers clacked the keys of his laptop as he shut it down. He gently closed the lid before clasping his hands in his lap and fixing Arcee with a joyful look of anticipation, almost wiggling with his eagerness to please. Arcee couldn't help but smile a bit as she was reminded of canines she had seen while patrolling near the park in Jasper. They displayed similar behaviors after dropping balls and flying discs at the feet of their humans, gazing hopefully at them, pleading with liquid brown eyes that they might fling the thing again. Not that Arcee thought Raf a dumb animal or a pet, but really, if the child had a tail, it would have been wagging furiously.

As expected, Miko was the first to object. After throwing a disgusted look in Raf's direction (he remained completely oblivious) she crossed her arms and legs, tying herself into a little knot of defiance. "We aren't slaves, you know. You can't order us around to do your chores just because you don't want to do 'em."

Arcee was quick to note that Miko was most agreeable to chores when Bulkhead was involved. Of course, with the Gruesome Twosome on the job, the chores tended to take twice as long as necessary. Still, they got done and Bulk and Miko were suitably occupied. But Bulkhead was out on patrol, and in all honesty, Arcee didn't give a flying glitchmouse whether Miko was inclined to help or not. One more stupid movie and Arcee was going to blow part of her neural network.

Coolly, Arcee responded. "Of course you aren't slaves. Slaves lack options. You all have two options." Three sets of organic eyes stared up at her as she laid out said options. "You can either be productive here or you can go home and be as productive or unproductive as you choose. Or," and here she gave a knowing half-smile, "as unproductive as your caretakers allow you to be."

Now, if any of them had bothered to spare organic brain matter to the problem, they would have deduced that Arcee was bluffing. Everyone with a passenger vehicle as an alt-mode was on patrol and Ratchet's temper would have red-lined if Arcee had asked him to spare the energon just to send the squatters home via Ground Bridge. Brave, confident soldier or not, no way was Arcee poking that nest of Decepticon sniper drones.

But from the look on Miko's face, the prospect of returning home to her host parents, just to listen to them lecture her about properly applying herself to her studies, was more horrifying than any task Arcee could assign. It totally eclipsed her capacity for logic and reason.

Jack took less time to look agreeable and Arcee knew it was because his mother was working long hours at the hospital again and wasn't home. Knowing Jack as she did, Arcee concluded that every task June might have set before leaving the house that morning had been accomplished before he and Arcee had left for Autobot headquarters. He could get away with loafing, but Arcee suspected that he was not looking forward to the loneliness. She felt a small niggle of guilt, but comforted herself in knowing that June, tough mom that she was, would approve of Arcee's decision.

Raf continued to beam and look as though he were about to jump out of his skin.

Jack smiled as he stood up, a slight air of a being resigned to his fate. "Whatcha got, Arcee?"

"The Storage Bay needs some organization." Arcee smiled at him and consulted her data pad. "Why don't you and Miko get started on that? When you're done, I'd like you to scrub the main corridor. Start back at the Munitions Bay and head towards the Training Room."

"Munitions Bay?"

It was disturbing how quickly Miko perked up at the possibility of being in the presence of explosives. Arcee raised an optic ridge. "From this side of the door."

"Aw, man." Miko crossed her arms and huffed. "You suck the fun right out of everything."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." Jack intervened, ever the peacemaker. Grabbing Miko by the shoulders, he spun her around and headed for the stairs. "We'll take care of the Storage Bay."

"Thanks, Jack."

"What about me?" Raf was standing at the railing now, on his tiptoes, his eyes wide and eager behind his thick glasses.

Arcee leaned over slightly to be on optic-to-eye level with the boy. "You get to stay out here and clean up after Ratchet and I."

"Sweet!"

Arcee's reasons for keeping Raf with her weren't completely altruistic, she had to admit. While it was true that Arcee refused to let Miko's surly mood dampen Raf's enthusiasm, there was a little more to it. The main bay was in need of a little TLC, especially where the Ground Bridge controls and the communications array were concerned. Of the three children, Ratchet was the least prickly when Raf was near his precious equipment. Plus, Arcee was hoping that the boy's presence would be cause for the medic to restrain his temper, if only marginally.

Arcee boosted Raf up to the console of the communications array and handed him a tote containing cloths, a special Ratchet-approved cleaner, and a can of pressurized air to clean the grit from around the buttons, dials, and knobs. After warning him to be careful, Arcee left him to it, returning to her own tedious duties. Ratchet watched all of this from the corner of his eye, but only gave a slight "Hmph" when Arcee walked past.

At this point, Arcee considered Ratchet's surliness towards the humans to be nothing more than a front. He wasn't fooling Arcee. He liked the children in his own way, but stubbornly refused to admit that they really weren't as bad as he initially thought. They weren't messy, they were pretty intelligent, and they didn't smell nearly as bad as his earlier speculations had led him to believe. His fondness for them, particularly Raf, was further illustrated when Bumblebee reported in. Ratchet gave Raf permission to respond to his guardian and said nothing when the conversation drifted to racing toy cars instead of remaining strictly professional.

For about an hour, everything went smoothly. But it was then that Arcee's famous vibe made itself known.

She had kept half an optic on Raf the entire time he worked, warning him once or twice to be mindful of the edge of the console. He had been in the midst of polishing when he abruptly stopped, held still for a second as if listening, and then reached into his pocket. It was his cell phone, obviously set to vibrate or a very low volume.

All of the children had been shocked to find that their cell phones would not work within the confines of the Autobot base. Optimus had calmly explained that the base was shielded to protect the secret location of their headquarters. Later, when it became apparent that the children were going to become a permanent fixture in their lives, Prime had recognized the need to adhere to "youngling raising customs of Earth people". Part of the reason the children had phones in the first place was so that their caretakers could keep track of them. If they couldn't reach them by phone, they would worry. If it became a constant problem, the children would be questioned and restricted in their movements.

It was either limit their time at the base, which everyone (even Ratchet, though he wouldn't admit it) refused to consider as an option, or come up with an alternative. Optimus had asked Ratchet to build new phones for Jack, Miko, and Raf, with the capabilities of contacting their parents. Grumbling, Ratchet had done so, creating devices that could send signals through the communications array and thus to the outside world. Through Agent Fowler's grudging assistance, all messages to and from these phones were sent through encrypted channels, insuring that they could not be traced. For security reasons, actual calls were still impossible within the walls of the Autobot headquarters. All three of the children were confident that they could keep their parents happy with text messages. If Raf's mother wanted him to come home for dinner, all she would have to do was send him a quick message.

But judging by his body language, it was not his mother who had just contacted him. Arcee watched out of the corner of her optic as Raf read the message, furrowed his brow, read the message again, and then looked to where Ratchet was bent over his work table, Raf's young face pinched with confusion and even a little bit of fear.

Arcee felt that little thrill run through her circuits, and long experience had taught her that ignoring it would lead to trouble. Still there was little she could do. Arcee knew from the look on Raf's face that the message concerned Ratchet and his reaction clearly spelled trouble. She also knew, since Ratchet was obviously involved, that it had to be either Miko or Jack that had sent that message. Arcee's credits were on the former and she could only hope that Raf would use his own good common sense regarding whatever had been relayed.

"Ratchet? Can you say 'Cool Whip'?

Well, so much for that. Arcee was not one for goggling, but goggle she did. Why, in the name of the AllSpark, would Raf (or more correctly, Miko) want Ratchet to say the name of some fluffy, white, human dessert topping?

The medic seemed to have more patience for Raf than anyone, Autobot or human. But it was plain to see that Ratchet was in no mood for the inane. Whatever had his metaphorical boxers in a knot since early that morning still had them in a death-grip. The medic turned quickly on Raf with all the malice of a disturbed rattlesnake. "What?"

Arcee looked back to Raf. He had ducked down slightly, cowering into an almost fetal position. "C-can you say 'Cool Whip'?"

For the moment, Ratchet seemed too flustered to answer. More out of curiosity than anything else, Arcee spoke up and asked. "Raf, why do you want Ratchet to say 'Cool Whip'?"

"Um."

Crossing her arms and smirking knowingly, Arcee confronted him. "Does it have something to do with that text message you just got?"

It only furthered her suspicions when she saw two shadows dart down the corridor in the direction of the Storage Bay. Miko had come to survey her handiwork and dragged Jack along.

"Uh. . ." was Raf's intelligent reply to the question.

Ratchet had recovered, his initial flare of temper subsiding just enough for him to put two and two together and come up with the solution of Miko. It caused his optics to spark as he ground out. "Whatever this little game is, I do NOT have time for it."

"Yessir." Raf quickly pocketed his phone and threw himself back at the controls for the Ground Bridge, lest he bait Ratchet further.

But the tenuous thread of peace that Arcee had been able to weave was abruptly cut. Ratchet began to snark, barking at Raf to re-clean the console and this time "put some slagging elbow grease into it". He then stomped his way to where Arcee was working and promptly pitched a fit because she was going too slow. Arcee resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but responded just sweetly enough to Ratchet so as not to arouse his suspicion, that he was absolutely right. For good measure, she threw in, "Could you perhaps check on Jack and Miko? I sent them storage to clean up a little."

"Primus, you turned them loose in storage?" Ratchet threw up his hands. "Those little glitches, I won't be able to find anything!"

"Better get down there, then." Arcee muttered at his back as he thundered from the hangar, bellowing like an angry bull as he went. There was no remorse in her, as she had knowingly released what had been lovingly described as Ratchet's "Pit-Spawned Devil Medic" persona loose on her charges. Since they had instigated it, it only seemed right that they should get a chance to spend some time with him, too.

When the noise had subsided a bit, Arcee offered Raf half a smile. "Why in the world would Miko ask you to ask Ratchet that question?"

"Don't know." Raf never looked up as he scrubbed the communications console with such vigor that Arcee was sure he was going to take the plating off. Everything about the way he held himself told Arcee that the boy did know, but he was not about to throw his friends under the bus. Or ambulance, in this case.

With that sinking feeling, Arcee went back to her maintenance work. That little niggle practically danced through her circuitry, mocking her with a little repetitive song of "Slag's gonna hit the fan! Slag's gonna hit the fan!" This, whatever it was, was not over yet.

Arcee managed to buy herself and Raf about fifteen minutes of Crabby Ratchet Free Time before the medic blew back into the Main Bay, still twelve different shades of ill-temper. Apparently, since he had managed to bluster at everyone, it was time to start round 2. The only reasonable explanation as to why he started with her again instead of Raf was that she was larger and more brightly colored, and thus, had grabbed his attention first.

After scraping together what patience she could muster, Arcee steeled herself and listened to Ratchet rant and rave for another ten minutes before the medic finally seemed to wind himself down enough to sit back at his work bench and proceed with the task he had been working at before Miko had decided to incite him to riot.

* * *

><p>Some time later, Arcee managed to escape the Main Bay, observing that she needed a mental health break. Though he was quiet, Ratchet's bad mood seemed to fill the entire room. Where everyone present had existed in affable silence before, they now labored under the oppression of Ratchet's surliness. It was exhausting. And that was how quickly the tide could change when one was assisting Ratchet.<p>

She had needed a break. When Ratchet had demanded to know where she was going, Arcee merely responded that she was going down to the Storage Bay to check on the 'slagging glitchmice', giving him every impression that she intended to give 'em hell, too. He seemed to approve of this, albeit grudgingly, as he added, "Just hurry up."

On the way, she picked up Raf, letting him ride on her shoulder. He had done his penance, as far as she was concerned and besides, giving Ratchet space would give him an opportunity to indulge in that most cathartic of exercises; giving flight to inanimate and normally ground-bound objects.

When they were out of earshot, Raf finally spoke. "Why is Ratchet in such a bad mood?"

Arcee couldn't resist a slightly smart answer. "Because you're asking him stupid questions."

"He was mad before that."

"True." Arcee responded as she continued along the corridor. Smiling a bit sadly, Arcee gave the simplest, most truthful answer she could divine. "Ratchet gets in bad moods because he gets frustrated. He cares a lot about all of us, and when he sees a problem that he can't fix or a potential situation he knows we can't avert, he gets a little . . . "

"Intense?"

"That's a good word. Let's go with that."

They arrived at the Storage Bay to find the place neater than Arcee ever imagined it would be. All of the parts were clean, sorted, and stored. The floor was passable, even swept. Arcee shared a significant look with her companion before heading up the corridor towards the Munitions Bay.

They had almost reached their destination when Jack's voice carried along the corridor. "I think he only does it when he's mad, Miko."

"He's been mad plenty of times." The girl's flippant voice was followed by the sound of water sloshing. "I think it happens when he's surprised. Like when I dropped paint on the floor while I was giving Jupiter its red spot. That's the moment we need to get. That moment when he's _shocked _right before he gets mad."

"I think we should probably _avoid _that moment." Jack responded dryly, exhibiting that common sense that he seemed to listen to all too infrequently.

It was fairly obvious who they were talking about. Arcee recalled the incident with the paint and Miko's solar system model, right before Ratchet had executed a hostile takeover of any and all science fair projects. What she couldn't remember was anything Ratchet had done of such significance that Miko felt it bore repetition. Considering all three of them had had to resubmit projects after disastrous presentations, Arcee felt that the prudent thing to do was forget it entirely.

She entertained the idea of standing just behind the wall and listening to the teenagers to find out what they were up to, but since she had been on her high-horse earlier about setting a good example for Raf, it seemed immoral to eavesdrop on comrades. Well, supposed comrades, since at least one of them seemed intent on some form of anarchy before the day was out.

Stepping forward, Arcee put her servos on her hips and asked outright. "What are you two talking about?"

"Private conversation." Miko sang, clearly annoyed as she plopped her mop back in the wheeled bucket and smacked it back to the metal floor. "None of your nevermind."

Arcee was having none of the sass. Glaring at Miko, she spoke to her junior partner. "Are you going to tell me why Miko feels the need to have Ratchet spout off brand name whipped cream?"

Miko snorted and giggled as she pushed her mop around. Jack tried to fight down a grin of his own, but when turned her disproving gaze to him, he cleared his throat and answered. " 'Fraid not, Arcee. I've got nothing to do with it."

She had a certain amount of respect for that. Neither of the boys were willing to rat Miko out. It was her game, and if she wanted to hang herself out to dry, they would let her take all the rope she wanted to accomplish that.

Miko, for her part, looked annoyed. "Traitor."

"Can't be a traitor if I was never onboard with the plan in the first place." Jack answered practically.

Arcee had no idea what Miko's obsession was with goading Ratchet to new heights of irritation. It was like she was constantly testing the limits just to see how far she could push the medic. The problem was, it wasn't like those limits were constant. Ratchet's fuse-length depended on his workload, how quickly and successfully his projects were coming, how well-supplied the base was, and if he had to put any of his fellow Autobots back together again recently. Arcee also suspected a variety of natural factors that they had no control over, such as; the moon's gravitational influence over the Earth, electromagnetic fields, El Nino, and possibly planetary alignment. There was simply no way of knowing just how far Ratchet could be pushed on any given day. And trying to discover that was probably more dangerous than dousing oneself in lighter fluid and dancing around with a pack of matches, lighting them individually.

"Look Miko," Arcee ignored the irritated look she got from the girl, "I'm not going to ask again what you're up to. Frankly, I don't think I want to know. But, leave Ratchet alone. He's got enough to worry about. No setting him up, no timing perfect moments to get whatever it is you want. Just leave him alone."

Miko huffed, crossed her arms, and canted her head back in an annoyed manner that made her pigtails bounce. "Fiiiiiiine."

"Good." Arcee smiled and nodded, "Thank you."

Jack shook his head and gave her a smile. They both knew that even though the girl was not happy, she wouldn't go back on her word. There would be no setting up of grouchy medics. At least not today.

"The others should be back soon." Arcee went on. "When you guys finish up, meet me back in the Main Bay."

"Sure thing, Arcee."

She had nearly forgotten about Raf, still perched on her shoulder. Cocking her head a bit, she caught his eye, and offered him a reprieve. "Do you want to stay here?"

"No," Raf adjusted his glasses. "I'm almost done with the ground bridge controls. I'll go back with you."

One part of Arcee admired Raf's dedication. Once the kid started something, he seemed to want to see it through. But then there was the other part. The part with that singing little voice that just chanted, "He wants an alibi! He wants an alibi!"

Okay, so either way she admired him. Either he was dedicated . . . or really, really smart.

* * *

><p>They almost made it. <em>Almost. <em>

Arcee had just laid aside the last piece of equipment that she needed to fix and Raf was giving the Ground Bridge controls a final swipe. Optimus, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee had just reported in to say that they were finishing up quiet shifts and would return shortly. All was well.

Until a loud whoop sounded down the corridor followed by a cry of "Yeehaw!" chased by an "Oh, frag!" and a mighty shout of "Crap!" This was further punctuated by a crash and the sounds of bodies hitting the floor.

Both Ratchet and Arcee reacted quickly, her agility and speed giving her an edge over Ratchet as he stopped to scoop up Raf. Within seconds, she was skidding around the corner to find Jack and Miko lying in a wet soapy heap at the bottom of the ramp leading down from Munitions. The mop bucket was lying on its side, wheels still spinning. Both mops were entangled the kids' legs. Remarkably, it seemed neither was too seriously hurt.

Once her processor started working again, Arcee put it together. It was another one of those things that perplexed her about her little human companion. Jack had this obsession with unmotorized objects with wheels and apparently, the enjoyment that might be attained by riding them down inclines. He had mentioned a couple of times sending his little red wagon down the small hill near his home as a child, riding his skateboard at the loading ramp at the local supermarket, and being scolded by teachers for having what he called "wheelie-office-chair" races with a couple of friends on the wheelchair access ramp in front of the school. Really, of all the things to get in trouble for . . .

The ramp from Munitions was an incline. The mop bucket, for the sake of convenience for their human friends, had wheels. It didn't take a super computer to work out that Jack couldn't resist the urge to take a joyride down the ramp. Miko, ever-ready to jump on the Stupid-Fun Bandwagon, had leapt on it with him, but being as the bucket was too small, it had overturned, spilling its contents and its jockeys at the bottom of the ramp.

Arcee had just put her servos to her hips and was concocting a rather impressive lecture, when Ratchet hurried up behind her. He huffed, handed Raf over to Arcee, surveyed the scene and said,

"H-what. . . in the AllSpark . . . happened here?"

There was a moment of pure silence in which Arcee could practically feel her processor click it all together. The look on Miko's face slipped from shock, to thunderstruck, to positively giddy in about four seconds. With a squeal, she jumped up from where she was sprawled with Jack and danced around on the wet floor, her tennis shoes squeaking madly. "He said it! Jack he said it! You did it!"

Arcee snapped her head back to the teen still lying on the floor. His mouth was hanging open, the picture of mute, horrified shock. He began to flail around, looking for all the universe like a landed tuna flopping around on the deck. "It wasn't on purpose! Arcee, I swear!"

But she couldn't be bothered with him just then. Miko, in her overwhelming joy, was now jumping around Ratchet, talking nonstop. "Why do you do that? Do you only do it when you're surprised? Why is it only sometimes? Do you do it on purpose?"

"What are you talking about?" Miko's irrational behavior was clearly unnerving Ratchet. And with good reason. Overzealous was an understatement.

"See, right there! Why did you not do it there?"

"Not did what now?"

"The emphasis on the 'H'" Miko had stopped moving and was standing before Ratchet, speaking slowly as though he were little dimwitted. "Why do you put emphasis on the 'H' when you talk?"

Ratchet took a ventilation, gathering himself as he looked down at the small, still soap-covered girl, "H-what . . . are you-"

He was cut off by another squeal that made Raf jump, once again on Arcee's shoulder. Now that Miko mentioned it, Arcee could pinpoint a few times over their years on Earth together when Ratchet displayed the slightly unique speech pattern, usually when he was surprised or trying to make a point. She just couldn't fathom why it had Miko so whipped up into a froth.

And speaking of whipping up . . .

"Say 'Cool Whip'."

"Primus slaggit! Not this again!"

"Say it!"

"Miko." Arcee put an edge to her tone. "Remember our conversation from earlier."

"I didn't set him up." Miko pointed a bubble covered finger at Jack, who had just managed to get to his feet. "Jack did."

"I didn't set him up!" Jack practically yelped. In his fervor to claim his innocence, he moved too quickly and his feet slipped out from under him. "I just thought it would be fun to ride down the ramp on the bucket and-"

"Save it." Arcee cut him off, but once again had no time to deal with Jack. Miko was probably the most singularly-minded organism Arcee had ever met and she was back at Ratchet.

"So what's up with that whole 'H' thing, Ratchet?"

"Wha-"

"Is it just something you do?"

"Miko!" Arcee attempted to admonish.

"H-wh.'

"Can you do it again?"

"Wh. . .wh. . . h-wha?"

"Please say 'Cool Whip'?"

"Miko!"

Clearly, Ratchet had something to say, but from the look on his face, he couldn't for the life of him think of how to begin. It seemed whatever it was involved the use of at least one of the five W's, and 80% of those were giving him trouble at the moment (he could probably get away with 'who'). Miko had him so self-conscious that his processor was unable to form an alternative wording for what he wanted to express. All that materialized from his vocalizer were a string of choked consonant sounds.

"I . . . h-wa . . . wha. . . fzzt!"

There was as a sickening sizzling sound and Ratchet's optics flew wide as he was struck mute.

Silence.

Nobody moved.

By Arcee's internal chronometer, it was only nine seconds, but felt like an eternity. Nobody dared to move. She doubted any of her human companions even dared to breathe. It seemed the silent consensus had been reached that any small movement could cause Ratchet to fly into a murderous fit of unholy rage.

Finally, it was Raf who spoke, possibly feeling a little more safe than his friends from his perch. "Ar-arcee? What happened to Ratchet?"

A dull processor ache was just beginning to make its presence known. She did her best to ignore it as she tried to form an intelligent answer. "Since he wasn't allowing his vocalizer to activate and second-guessing every vocal thread after it left his processor, I think Ratchet may have shorted out his voice components."

The shock passed from Ratchet's face and Arcee could see the storm clouds rolling in. With a look of blooming annoyance, the medic nodded. Realization had slowly sunk in for him and the inconvenience this was going to cause him only deepened his frustration. Optics narrowed and hardened as he hissed, literally hissed, since that was the only noise he was currently capable of.

"Is he going to be like Bumblebee?"

Arcee had to smile softly at the concern in Raf's voice. "No. Bumblebee's injuries were very extensive. Ratchet's self-repair system should be able to take care of this. He'll be good as new in a couple of days."

This whole time, Miko had been standing next to Jack, her hands covering her mouth, pretty much from the instant Ratchet's circuits fried. Arcee noted that the look in her eyes was pure remorse and horror at what she had just unintentionally done. Finally, she removed her hands and said in a thin voice, "Ratchet-"

But before she could say anything else, the medic scowled, glaring angrily down at her. Miko took a step back, clearly uneasy as Ratchet continued to glare before stomping off down the hall back towards the Main Bay.

They stood together and watched him go. The children were still all subdued and in Miko's case, mortified. As for Arcee, she was of course, sympathetic for her friend and comrade. Poor Ratchet allowed himself to get worked up too easily over silly things. He gave new meaning to the phrase 'control freak'. He had to make sure it was done right and the easiest way to do that was to do it himself. But what she had told Raf early was true, Ratchet cared deeply about those around him and that filled him with a fear of losing someone close. That fear manifested itself in his gruffness and his overbearing nature.

This, however, made him _so easy _to work up, a simple target to prod a temper tantrum from to enliven the afternoon. Bulkhead, was guilty of it. Bee was guilty of it. Cliffjumper had been legendary for it. Primus, even Arcee and Optimus had been known to nudge Ratchet a bit when he was already testy. They probably shouldn't, but if they didn't, Arcee was fairly certain that Ratchet would bottle up all that fear and frustration and explode. They would walk into the Med Bay one day and have to pick Ratchet's pieces off of the ceiling. Poor mech.

But, and she wasn't proud of this, there was a little part of her that the whole thing was fraggin' hilarious.

As the banging and clanging started down in the Main Bay, she held on to both of those feelings, because someone was going to have to go down there and run a diagnostic on Ratchet's vocalizer. Of the four of them, Arcee was the most qualified, of course. But she was also the only one with whom Ratchet wasn't directly angry. Jack and Raf had really been on the periphery of the whole thing, but Ratchet was not above guilt by association on his best days. Right now, Jack, Raf, and every one of the seven billion organisms that happened to be of the same species as Miko were to blame for Miko's behavior and Ratchet's . . .er, inconvenience. Yes, sympathy and humor were probably the way to go here.

"You two clean up this mess." Arcee instructed the two teenagers standing beside her as she reached up for the boy on her shoulder. "Raf, you stay here, too. I'll go check on Mr. Sunshine."

Straightening her spinal struts, Arcee prepared to march in to battle.

As suspected, anything not nailed down was at Ratchet's mercy. Tools and spare parts flew through the air as he stormed around the bay throwing his hands and blustering air through his vents as a way of making some sort of angry exclamation. Once, the kids had watched some National Geographic show on television in which an enraged old bull elephant had charged the filmmakers, and now Arcee had a keen understanding of how they felt. For a wild moment, she wished for a tranquilizer gun that worked on big, overwrought Cybertronian medics.

Still, given everything that had happened today, way too much TV being watched around here.

Arcee resolved that Ratchet had the right to about five Earth-minutes of interrupted rampaging. Leaning against the frame of the bay door, she watched as Ratchet kicked a couple of walls, pounded a couple of sheets of old scrap metal, and then proceeded to pitch a whole container of small hex-bolts at Miko's amplifier with a certain amount of satisfied glee. While she was aware of the limits of Ratchet's throwing arm and the time it took him to close the distance between himself and anything he could hurl at her, she was at ease. Even in his worst fits, Ratchet relegated himself to sturdy or unimportant objects; scraps and nearly indestructible tools. . and Bulkhead. The scanners that Arcee had been working on, the Ground Bridge controls, and the communications array were all carefully avoided, though it seemed that the old medic was anything but careful.

Time was up and Ratchet had begun to wind down on his own. Arcee hefted herself from the door, feeling her battle computer hum a bit, preparing her to duck if Ratchet decided for just one more good toss of something. Swooping in on her own station, she picked up one of the med scanners she had been working on. Without preamble, she marched over to Ratchet and began to run diagnostics on him. "Come on, Doc. Let me check you out."

There was a rush of air through his vents again and Arcee sensed that he was about to fire up again at the indignity of it all. There was no such as thing as impotent rage with Ratchet. Mute or not, he would find a way to express himself if suitably harrassed. While Arcee was certain he would never hurt her, he was probably of the processor-set to be mulish and uncooperative. So, even while she was trying to empathize, Arcee, too, was reaching the limit of her patience and was in no mood to play games. "Don't even think about it."

Ratchet sneered, but apparently took her clipped tone seriously. He plunked himself down hard on the work stool, the metal on metal sound clanging around the bay. Arcee could practically hear his dente grinding as he lifted his chin slightly, giving her access to one of the diagnostic ports in his neck.

"Thank you."

The scanner told her pretty much what she had already surmised. Ratchet's vocalizer had endured a feedback surge of energy due to his lack of conviction and shorted as a result. Some of the connections were overheated and raw, probably a little sore. Given a couple of days, though, his vocalizer would heal and repair itself.

When she disconnected the hardline, Ratchet snatched the scanner from her servo, intent on looking at the data for himself.

"Don't you get grouchy with me, just because you let some little human verbally best you." Now that she was sure Ratchet was fine, she couldn't resist ribbing him a little. Ratchet gave a snort by way of an answer. She smirked and continued. "Well, at least it will be quiet around here for a few days."

Ratchet looked up, giving her a warning glare.

"Don't worry. Your self-repair responded quickly. Kinda shocking considering how old it is."

Still glaring.

"And, you know the scanner is accurate. I just recalibrated it. At least one of us got something accomplished today."

That comment got a reaction. Ratchet had the audacity to implore a vulgar human hand gesture, before standing back up and pounding his way across the bay to busy himself with some project that he had been working on. There was nothing more to do for him. Ratchet would work through his sulk on his own, though his memory capacity was truly astounding. No doubt, everyone would get an audial or earful when the medic was fully functional again.

"Is it safe to come in?" Jack's voice caught her audial and she turned to see all three kids peering cautiously around the entrance to the Main Bay. Eyes darted back and forth between her and Ratchet.

Ratchet gave a soft "Hmph!" (not shockingly, he had manged to figure out how to make that noise even with a blown vocalizer) and turned his back on all of them like a sulking sparkling that refused to acknowledge his tormenters, hunching over his project and exuding resentfulness.

Arcee rolled her optics and leaned back against the console she was standing near. "Yeah. It's safe."

Before Arcee could blink, Miko sprinted across the bay and threw herself bodily and Ratchet's foot. There was a wet _thwap! _as the girl slapped her tear-stained face against the plating along the medic's shin struts, throwing her arms out over as much of his armor as she could in order to give him a hug. "I'm sorry, Ratchet!"

Arcee hadn't meant it was _that_ safe. Holy fraggin' Pit, did the little organic have a death wish?

Ratchet started, staring down at his foot with a mixture bemusement and annoyance. The look on his face plates clearly indicated he would like nothing more than to pick up his pede and flick Miko away like the little organic pest he currently viewed her to be. Arcee had to give him credit, he showed amazing restraint, opting to sit stock-still instead.

Miko snuffled hard and Arcee had to wonder what sort of organic material she was leaving on the fussy medic's plates. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

Ratchet threw a look back over his shoulder at Arcee that clearly said, _Are you friggin' serious? _It was a possibility, granted, that Ratchet's pride may have been marginally wounded. In all likelihood he was probably angrier at the stupidity than actually hurt. He had things to do and obviously being without a vocalizer for two days would put him at Bulkhead's mercy at the very least. So much time would be spent aiming things and chucking them at the big, green warrior's head, Ratchet would be a couple of days behind by the time all was said and done.

There was a long-suffering exvent as Ratchet allowed himself to be apologized to for a few more seconds before quirking an eyebrow at Arcee to indicate that he had stomached all the apology he was going to be able to handle. Wisely, she spoke up, "Miko, I think Ratchet forgives you now."

As Miko took a few steps back and wiped her nose on her sleeve, the medic's optics narrowed in a way that clearly stated all was not, in fact, forgiven. Without a doubt, there was already some form of punishment for Miko and her cohorts already in development in Ratchet's devious processor. But, frankly, if Ratchet was content to sit and just stew and plot while Miko was convinced all was well, Arcee was inclined to let them both be. It would be a good lesson for Miko later, when Ratchet finally exacted his vengeance.

And she was just too tired to deal with them anymore. A patrol shift with 'Con engagement was less taxing.

"Optimus to Base." Arcee reflected later that she had never been so glad to hear the deep baritone of her commander's voice. "Requesting Ground Bridge."

"Shall I get that then?" Arcee asked, keeping her tone bland on purpose. Ratchet gave her a glare so sinister and intense, she actually looked down to see if her plating was scorched.

In under a minute, Arcee had responded and opened the Ground Bridge. Optimus rolled through in his alt-mode, air brakes releasing as he pulled to a smooth halt in the Main Bay. He transformed fluidly beside her and stood tall.

Before he could even ask how things were, Arcee spoke up. "How was patrol?"

There was a certain wariness in Optimus as he furrowed an optic ridge. He was by no means stupid, and since he had already reported that it had been quiet, Arcee knew that suspicion had been aroused. The Prime answered, slowly, furtively shifting his all-seeing gaze around the bay for signs of things being out of place. He undoubtedly noticed the set of wrenches strewn about and the light smattering of hex-bolts that seemed to set the décor off nicely. "No sign of Decepticons, for now. All is well."

"Wish we could say the same."

Arcee sent Jack a poisonous look. Sometimes that kid broached delicate subjects with all the finesse of a street cleaning drone in a Polyhexian crystal garden. The three of them had retreated to the safety of their clubhouse again, leaning over the back of the couch, watching expectantly, since obviously, watching Arcee try to explain this one had to be better than anything on that blasted TV.

"Did something . . . happen today?" Optimus asked, looking down at Arcee.

"Lots of things happened today." Raf put in helpfully. Miko, still looking at least a little sober, remained quiet, but if Arcee continued to let the boys contribute, the girl would undoubtedly find her voice eventually. And really, the last thing Arcee needed today was for Prime to find out about all of this in some frantic, run-on sentence of a diatribe.

Arcee crossed her arms and jutted out a hip, hoping that her posture indicated just how much their input was not appreciated. They clammed up, shutting their lips tight, but otherwise didn't move, still watching to see how Arcee was going to handle her report to her commander.

_Oh well, might as well give 'em what they want. _In some fit of genius or insanity, Arcee shrugged and replied. "Why don't you ask Ratchet?"

The End

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_Or confession, whatever._

_Please, do not run back to your DVDs or DVRs to hear Ratchet put the emphasis on the 'H'. He did not in fact, do that, in the 'Hostile Takeover' scene in Masters and Students. I'm pretty sure he did it at some point in the first season. Hence the above silliness. When I was writing this, my muse insisted that he almost, ALMOST did it there and that she could totally pull it off if I agreed to use that scene. And while I would love to know if I'm right or not, I'm ok with needing to bend the dialouge just a wee so that I may have my fun. It's not like I can rewatch the entire first season of TF: Prime to find the exact moment. I DO have a life (sometimes, unfortunately) so . . . _

_I am proclaiming my **RIGHT OF POETIC LICENSE. **_

_Oh, and by the way . . . _

**_YOU'RE EATING HAIR!_ **_insert giggling here_


End file.
